


Desperate

by LaLionne (otayuriistheliteralbest)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Angst, BDSM, Car Sex, M/M, Prostitution, SHEITH - Freeform, Safewords, lance is a burlesque dancer, more tags to be added later, pansexual keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 04:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14887265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otayuriistheliteralbest/pseuds/LaLionne
Summary: Keith is out of money, out of options, and out of time. Tuition bills are looming, and he does the only thing he can think of to get quick cash: asks his roomie Lance for a pair of heels and sells his body for quick cash. That all changes when a mysterious man pulls up next to Keith's corner and offers him another option.Basically, this is Pretty Woman meets BDSM.





	Desperate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kymbawee](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Kymbawee).



> This fic is for Kym! Thank you for the prompt, my dear, and I hope you enjoy this!! <3
> 
> Thank you to harky and Jes for beta'ing the first chapter for me!

His heels clacked on the concrete sidewalk, the unevenness of his steps belying his nerves. When he had asked his roommate, face burning, voice hushed, where he would buy heels on the cheap, it was his last-ditch effort. Lance had furrowed his brows but for once didn't ask any questions. Lance was a burlesque dancer as his night job to help pay for college, but he was one of the lucky ones; he had a whole big, supportive family to help him out while he went to school. Keith had no one, never had.

  
Lance was perceptive, though, and offered to let Keith borrow one of his many sets of heels. He could see through the lie Keith told, that he wanted to go clubbing. Lance had seen Keith survive off three square meals of ramen noodles a day and studying nonstop to keep his scholarship. Lance knew hat Keith wasn't the type to go clubbing. He didn't have the funds or time for that lifestyle.    
  
Instead of asking, Lance rummaged through his many piles of shoes, from practical chucks all the way to what he called his “stripper pole dancing” shoes. He cried out triumphantly, raising aloft a blood red stiletto platform heel and handing it off to Keith. Moments later, the matching heel joined its partner in Keith’s arms, and he scurried away from Lance with a muttered, “Thanks.”   
  
The stilettos made Keith look more confident than he felt, he decided. He didn't know what he was doing, wearing torn jean booty shorts and fishnets that accentuated his legs, finishing off the look with a t-shirt he’d tried to cut in a tastefully distasteful way. He'd swiped some of Lance’s makeup from their shared bathroom, putting matching red eyeshadow on his lids and managing to only poke himself in the eye once while attempting to put on mascara.    
  
The finishing touch was the packet of condoms in his back pocket. Until he pulled them out, Keith had been able to pretend that this was anything but what it really was, but seeing the strip of condoms in his hands brought everything into sharp focus.   
  
Keith was about to sell his body, because he'd gotten just that desperate. He’d been fired from the pizzeria after he let his temper get the better of him, and nowhere else was hiring. The next installment of tuition payments was coming up, as well as rent in a week, and god knew how he was going to be able to afford food, let alone anything big. His scholarship only covered so much, and Keith’s options had begun to dry up.   
  
Keith squared his shoulders, he weight of what he was doing playing in his mind, but it was now or never. He needed the money. He’d had sex with boyfriends and girlfriends in the past, so it wasn’t necessarily that part of it playing on his nerves. He wasn’t a virgin in any sense of the word, though it had been a while since he’d last bottomed for someone, and he just knew that that would be happening - if not tonight, then the next time he did this. If there were a next time. Keith had prepped himself to be safe - he didn’t want a hospital bill he couldn’t afford due to an overeager….client…. if he  _ wasn’t _ prepared for them.

Keith found an empty corner - that was where he was supposed to wait, right? He’d seen movies - and leaned against the rough brick facade, head tilted as he attempted to give off an unaffected air. He played the one free game on his cheap as dirt Nokia phone that was almost as old as he was - no internet, but it would last forever.

Keith stood on that corner for an hour, his feet starting to ache in his borrowed heels and the ever-present thought that  _ this was a mistake _ echoing in his head when a nice-looking SUV rolled up beside him. Keith felt himself shaking, but he needed this,  _ needed _ this, and he couldn’t back out now. The passenger window rolled down and a timid-looking businessman, maybe in his mid-fifties with balding, close-cropped hair, peeked out at Keith on the sidewalk. He stood straight and shoved his Nokia in the back pocket of his shorts.

He did his best to saunter over on wobbly legs, leaning down into the car window. Keith glanced quickly around, gaze flitting to the interior of the car.  _ Good, it’s empty _ . That had been one of his worries, doing this alone. He didn’t want to get jumped, forced into something he wasn’t willing to do.

“Hey there,” Keith said, trying to make his voice sound husky.

“H-hi,” the businessman stuttered.  


_ Ok, he wasn’t going to make this easy. _ Keith sighed internally and bit his lip.

“You wanna go for a ride, handsome?” Keith laid it on thick. “How much you got?”

The balding businessman leaned over awkwardly and unlocked the passenger side door to let Keith in, and Keith steeled himself, opening the door and hopping in.  _ This is it _ .

In the end, Keith learnt he didn’t need to prep himself nearly as much as he had. They didn’t ask names, barely spoke as Keith rode the guy in the back seat of his expensive car. They guy came in only a couple of minutes, crying out some woman’s name as he tipped over the edge. He threw five hundred bucks Keith’s way for the orgasm. His eyes bugged out when he saw how much the guy had given him and he quickly shoved it in his back pocket with his phone before the guy realized - Keith thought, anyway - he’d paid way too much and demanded Keith return it.

Keith heaved himself out of the back of the SUV, stumbling on the pavement briefly, forgetting that he was wearing heels. He wobbled over to a bench and plopped down on his ass, wincing at the jarring motion, as the SUV zoomed off down the street. At least there wasn’t any cleanup required, not much, with the condom. His last boyfriend hadn’t liked the loss of sensation and they went without, but that asshole had been ages ago.

Over the course of the next week, Keith learnt to judge people quickly; he ignored beat-up old cars after the first guy only gave him $20 for blowing him while he drove around. Keith also started carrying his switchblade with him after one guy… he shuddered. The women weren’t as bad. They actually cared if he came, for one. They also wouldn’t just want a quick fuck in the car and would sometimes take him to nicer hotel rooms. Some even bought him room service.

Keith could afford rent, but those tuition bills were looming ever-closer and he desperately counted his money over and over, but it was never enough. He was just grateful that Lance hadn’t questioned him and his late nights, but that was honestly pure luck, since Lance’s shifts at the burlesque club usually ran late.

It took some time, but Keith figured out just how much and what kind of makeup to use to accentuate his eyes. He kept it understated, to appeal to more clients. He added a couple of pieces to his wardrobe form the thrift store down the street: a black leather choker and a red mesh tank top, as well as the rare find of a pair of heels that actually  _ fit _ him. He bought discount lingerie because no one wanted to see saggy grey boxers on the prostitute they were paying for sex.

Keith wandered up and down what he now considered his “usual beat.” It was a Thursday night; this day of the week was normally fairly busy from his limited experience, but for some reason it was absolutely dead. Keith was getting desperate enough that he would be willing to blow the next guy who asked.

His heels made his feet ache, and Keith was about to give up for the night when a sparkling black Maserati pulled up to the curb next to him. The passenger side window rolled down in one smooth motion, and Keith leant over slightly to look inside the car. It was dark, even with the lights from the console, and Keith could only make out the outline of the man in the driver’s seat. He looked young, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, and wore sunglasses that hid his eyes from view.

_ Why is he wearing sunglasses at night?  _ Keith asked himself warily. The driver tapped his leather-gloved hand on the steering wheel, seemingly assessing Keith as - he could only assume - he glanced over his body, his clothing. The man wore black leather driving gloves that covered his hands completely and a dark black suit. His tie stood out, a darker shade of purple splashed against a neat white button-up. His hair was what threw Keith off: a crisp undercut of some indiscernible shade of brown with a shocking white forelock of hair that flopped over one eye. Keith wondered about the aesthetic choice briefly, before he remembered what he was doing there and cleared his throat.

“Hey there, big guy,” Keith said in a low, sultry bedroom voice. He leaned into the open window, resting one arm on the window frame. He appraised the man and his crystal-clean interior - the guy was clearly a perfectionist. Controlling.  _ Hot _ , his mind supplied.

The guy smirked and pulled off his sunglasses, silver grey eyes pooling with want as he stared at Keith.

“Hello. My name is Shiro,” he told Keith. “Want to go for a ride with me?”

Keith’s cheeks flushed. He wanted nothing more than to ride this man, Shiro, to the stars and back until the whole universe shook and exploded around them.

“I’d love to,” he replied breathily. “I’m Keith.”

Shiro unlocked the passenger side door with the press of a button and Keith opened the door slowly, not wanting to seem impatient. He slid into the black leather seat and closed the door behind him. Shiro smirked and put his sunglasses back on. The window rolled back up as he drove off, the doors locking automatically after a few seconds.

“So, what’s your poison?” Keith asked after a few moments’ silence, the purr of the engine the only other noise as Shiro cut down the dark road. Keith felt as if alarm bells should be going off about this guy, but there was something about him, a familiarity and sense of warmth, that made Keith’s breath hitch. He felt drawn to the shape of Shiro. He didn’t seem dangerous, nothing like that, but there was a sense of power radiating off of the man, and Keith wanted nothing more than to bask in that feeling.

“A bit of a loaded question, don’t you think?” Shiro asked, tilting his face in Keith’s direction, a careful smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Keith rolled his eyes and scratched at the back of his head, about to rattle off options and prices to the man when Shiro interrupted his thoughts.

“You sparked my interest,” he said. “I’ve seen you in the neighborhood on my way home from work a couple of times now. You’re a new one on the streets, but you’re clean, and you don’t seem to be homeless from what I can tell.

“I’m not trying to get you to ‘clean up your act’ or whatever shit people might tell you. Rather… I have a proposition for you. If you’ll hear me out.”

Keith was apprehensive, but what did he have to lose? He steeled himself for whatever Shiro had to say, mentally preparing himself if he needed to jump out of the moving car.

“What did you have in mind?” Keith asked, trailing one hand down Shiro’s suit jacket, more as a distraction for himself than anything else.

“I’m looking for someone with tastes… compatible with my own. Nothing painful, unless you explicitly consent, nothing you wouldn’t want to do. There would be a safeword, if the situation ever arises and you change your mind.

“You would be mine exclusively. I will pay you well, and you will want for nothing. No more selling yourself on the streets, because you won’t have the time or need for that anymore. If this sounds amenable to you, we would start tonight. What do you think, Keith?”

He didn’t even hesitate.

“I’m all in.”


End file.
